Awakening Evil
by NoseyHeiffer
Summary: What was Mr. Gold thinking? What caused him to turn evil? Did Belle push him too far? These are his thoughts immediately after


I do not own Once Upon A Time. Please review.

Season 6, Episode 7

 **Awakening Evil**

 _"If you were pure evil like the queen, then maybe I could forgive you because that's all you could be. But you, you do feel love, and you could be a good man if you tried. If you want your son's love, don't take it. Be worthy of it._

 _"What if I fail?"_

 _"Listen to yourself. That's just you all over, isn't it? Afraid of failing. That's worse than being evil. That's, that's just being too weak to be good._

OUAT OUAT OUAT

The bells over the door jangled discordantly as Belle left the shop, leaving him hurt and bewildered. It was wrong of him to cheat; he knew that, but he was so lonely, so terribly, terribly lonely. Belle refused to speak to him, and she was keeping him from participating in her pregnancy, which wasn't fair. The child was his, too. He just wanted to protect her and the baby. She was a smart woman. Why was she unable to see that? He had enemies who wouldn't hesitate to take their revenge on his wife and child. His plan was only for the best, to protect them, and she would never have known if it hadn't been for -

 _Zelena!_ The named seared his thoughts, and he clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth until he heard a definite crack. He winced. _Damn, molar! When I'm done, I'll make her pay for my tooth as well._

Locking up the shop with an angry flick of his hand, he stormed to the back, pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a glass. Nostrils flaring with anger, he carelessly tossed back the contents of the glass. It took another drink before his unreasonable rage ebbed.

He sat down at his work desk and loosened his tie. Slowly sipping his third glass, savoring the aged oak flavor, he twisted the cut glass in his hand, swirling the amber fluid around, and held it up to the light. A prism or color, reflected by the lamp, splayed across his old spinning wheel, and a kaleidoscope of plans, as neatly layered as a rainbow, began to take shape in his mind.

Finishing the drink, he set the glass down and stood to remove his tie. He placed it and its clasp inside his jacket and hung them carefully beside the doorway. Pouring himself another drink, he returned to his desk to think.

 _Belle. The wee harridan hadn't even slammed the door when she left._ Just closed it gently, as if that would make up for the slam she'd given his heart. He had tried to explain, but she hadn't stopped talking to listen. He'd tried to apologize, but - Well, he'd meant to apologize.

Her words had burned themselves into his mind. The words, the conversation ran round and round in his mind. Over and over they rolled on and on. He took another long, slow pull from his whiskey glass. The initial burn of the fiery liquid had long since ceased after his fourth (or was it the fifth) drink. He shrugged to himself and topped off the glass, clumsily recapping the bottle.

Why couldn't she understand? The only thing she was right about was his fear. He was afraid. He always had been afraid. And the higher the stakes, more important the situation, the more afraid he was, afraid of failing. She knew his history, knew what he'd lost, knew his fears. He'd never known his mum, and his papa - well, that's a topic better left buried. He tossed back the whiskey with a shudder and refilled the glass quickly.

Milah. Bae. Cora. He'd lost them all because he'd been afraid. He heaved a bone weary sigh. _Belle was dead on right about my being afraid._

 _And, I tried so hard to get the words out, to tell her, but she wouldn't listen. She saw the tears in my eyes, but she wouldn't give me a chance to explain._ He swallowed back tears along with the remains of the whiskey. Wiping his eyes on the back of his hand, he refilled his glass with unsteady hands.

 _I want to be a good man, but I want to be a strong man, too, one who can protect my wife and child. Isn't that what a good husband and father is supposed to do, provide for and protect his family? But how can I do that if I don't have the power? How can I protect them from my enemies if I am reduced to becoming that simple spinner again?_

 _Dammit! Belle can afford to talk about being brave. She's never known what it's like to be poor or hungry or abused or at the mercy of those who are stronger and more powerful. It's easy to be brave when you're tall and strong and rich and powerful. When you have power, it's easy to protect those you love; it's easy to demand respect or at least fear._ His red-rimmed eyes shifted towards his old spinning wheel. He eyed it carefully for a long minute, considering.

He raised his glass to his lips only to find it empty again. Staring at it in momentary confusion, he wondered with a wry chuckle where his whiskey had gone. A cock of his eyebrow and a tilt of his head preceded his pouring the last of the whiskey into the glass. He saluted the empty bottle of Crown Royal and turned up the glass, tossing back the last of the whiskey. Smacking his lips in appreciation, he set the glass down with a deliberate thump and squinted at the bottle still in his hands.

 _Crown Royal?_ An ironic laugh, dry and dusty as mummy wrappings, filled the crowded workroom. It seemed as if royalty were the cause of all his troubles! _All those so-called royal personages fighting their damned wars! They cost me my ankle, my honor, my simple life, my son._ He sniffled and viciously scrubbed his hand across his face, smearing tears and snot.

 _And Cora, beautiful, beautiful Cora! I loved her, but she ripped her own heart out rather than return my love. And, why? Because of her desire to be royal. The bitch!_ Anger threaded its way through his pain, and he clutched the bottle to his chest.

 _Royalty? Hmmph!_ He snorted, remembering Belle. _No, no, my Belle wasn't royal, but she was of noble birth, far too high for the likes of a simple spinner like me_. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on the old spinning wheel, as a quicksilver thought flittered across his mind, but it was much too fast for his alcohol soaked brain.

The bottle, inverted, dribbled the last remaining cold, fragrant drops of golden elixir down his shirt and pants. _Damnation!_ he growled slammed the bottle onto the suddenly tilting desk top. He jerked upright, swaying on unsteady feet, and snatched off his shirt and undershirt. Flinging them onto the desk, he then kicked off his shoes and, removing his trousers, balled them up and threw them on top.

In dark socks and boxers, he limped and staggered over to the cot and dropped in exhaustion. Stretching his legs out, he lay back and pulled up the blanket. _Ah, yes, that's better_. He inhaled deeply, intending to relax, but the bed was redolent of her scent and the odor of sex.

 _Regina!_ His eyes snapped open, and a slow grin spread over his face. _Aye, royalty again is the cause of my troubles. I suppose I am royally screwed, huh?_ He chuckled aloud at his own poor joke. _I cheated, but I didn't lie about it. She didn't mean anything. She still doesn't, but -_

 _And I know she's just using me, hoping to wrap me around her finger, wanting my power. And she knows I'm using her, too._ His grin widened. _But it was nice to be desired, nice to be needed, to be appreciated, to be accepted. The queen, she, at least, understands me._

He blinked his eyes slowly as the liquor lulled him again towards Morpheus' arms. Another course of anger stampeded through him. _Morpheus! Our son?_ Again he remembered Belle's hurtful words. _No, I'm not evil like the queen,_ his slushy thoughts insisted _, but if that's what it takes for you to forgive me, Belle_ \- He ground his teeth and punched the pillow as sleep snatched him into oblivion _\- then, my dearie, that's just what you'll get._


End file.
